Giving It Back to Paolini
by Curly Bubble
Summary: Why Nasuada hates Paolini, and what she does to get even. Murtagh and her 'give it back to Paolini' in this medium-lenght fic. Spoiler alert: takes place after the end of the Inheritence Cycle.
1. His Final Spell

A/N: Spoiler alert, this is after the Inheritance Cycle is COMPLETELY over. So read at your discretion. One more author's note below.

Also, thank you, BrightWatcher for helping me clear up some mistakes, both grammatical and otherwise.

"Spell-casters, spell casters, spell-casters," mumbled Elva, "Seriously, Lady Nightstalker, can't you come up with something else to talk about?" She turned her heel and walked away from the Queen.

The irritation had been evident in the girl from the beginning of their conversation, but Nasuada had continued unabated, because apart from thinking about him, it was the only action she could have taken to actually FIND him.

The idiotic author of Inheritance had left her waiting for him, an endless wait that would last for centuries, until someone else took up the pen and wrote HER story, instead of rambling about how poignant Eragon's situation was. The author seemed to like endless angst endings, and Nasuada was having none of it. She would not wait eternally, but search for him.

She would have added 'No matter how long it takes,' yet she was aware she hadn't the luxury of time at her disposal. She had been rejecting suitors all her life, but ever since she had become the queen, the men had gone mad. _A_ _beautiful wife, as well as a short-cut way to the throne, fame, glory and power? who wouldn't want that?_

_Murtagh wouldn't_. The thought brought a sad smile to her lips. There was one man who she'd die to have by her side, and that man didn't want the position that others would do anything for. The thought had troubled her. Would she really be able to refuse an offer from him, if it meant that she'd have to go to wherever his dragon and him wanted, _"Where the wind sweeps us,_" as Murtagh had said?

Her mind flashed back to the time when she had refused his offer. Would she really be able to do it again? Her throat hardened as she felt regret wash over her.

She recalled seeing how tired Murtagh was when he and Thorn had flown out of Uru'ban, but after healing himself and Thorn, he had looked at her with fire in his eyes. They had been talking softly, about topics she didn't remember, but it was the intimacy she remembered. She was aware of Eragon and Saphira's eyes fixed on them, but she didn't care.

And before she could predict it, before she could even see it, his lips were seconds away from hers, his hot breath forming drops of moisture on her lips. She closed the gap and was in his arms then, his hands roaming everywhere. Her gasp made him break away swiftly. He pulled back the fabric on her blouse and saw the scars, his face lined with rage.

His hand lightly touched her as he began to speak in the Ancient Language, healing her. She had been about to protest, but when she saw the determined look on his face, she stopped herself. But, in her mind, she was screaming, _kiss me, you idiot, I've stood this pain for so long, don't waste your energy!_

Just as she was consoling herself that 'there would be plenty of time for all that later,' Murtagh had finished healing her, and was speaking to her in the Ancient Language. She kept opening her mouth to interrupt him and explain, as he already knew, that she didn't understand what he was saying, but the words kept flowing from his mouth, and Nasuada realized that it was a spell.

Once Murtagh was done, he took in a deep breath, and in a rush, grabbed her and pulled her towards him. She welcomed his mouth on hers again, and was shocked to receive only a rough, brusque kiss.

"Goodbye," he muttered to her.

Before she could react in any way, he was on Thorn's back. The red dragon leapt up into the air, and jumped into the sky, gaining altitude. Shocked, she called to him, but the shaggy-haired youth didn't look back.

Then she could hear Murtagh's voice in her mind. With images, thoughts and words, he explained to her that he was going for good._ Morzan's son will never be accepted into the Varden_, his voice had explained. Through thoughts and images, he showed her what he thought would happen to the fragile sense of order if he was present, with the Varden for certain losing the support of the dwarfs, because he had killed their king.

"I'll only make trouble for you," was his last argument.

Suddenly Saphira was flying towards her, Eragon on her back.

"Where are they going?" He asked, his face worried.

"Away," was all she could manage to say, before he flew towards the direction in which his brother had flown. Hot tears streaked her face as she prayed Eragon would bring him back. She wished she had had a chance to jump on Saphira's back too, but she knew that would have wasted them precious time. Besides, she wasn't sure Murtagh would welcome her putting herself in danger again. Not after he had done so much to protect her. So she had sat there, mind running over his thoughts and memories, until, with what seemed like a blur, she was rushed into her tent by Jomunder, and ordered to rest for the whole day.

Nasuada forced herself to break out of the cycle of thoughts, and focus on reality. Paolini had not created her as a "strong character" just for nothing. She was strong, and strong she had to be. For she was the queen now, and though that gave her many comforts, it also gave her many responsibilities.

She was actually glad of the power and accountability, as it gave her an excuse for the complete lack of romance she had had all her life. Sometimes she wondered, what was she doing, before Murtagh had come along? Most girls her age would have finished their whirlwind affairs, and even settled down and born children.

The words 'children' reminded her of the illusion Gallbatorix had constructed, where Murtagh and her had been married, and the maid had come in, talking about "The children." She had treasured the memory of the illusion, though she knew it was fake and only a ploy to get her to swear fealty to the king.

_Would it have really been all that bad if she had said yes to the king? Murtagh would have been by her side then, along with Eragon._

They had both left her, and she was the loneliest ruler in the world.

A/N: So, after finally piloting through Paolini's book, hoping to get some info about Nasuada and Murtagh, after having to bear the arrogant and emo Eragon whining about his stupid Arya, )on and on and on… by the way), it finally turns out that NOTHING HAPPENS! I was so angry, and decided to write a story, but only got so far, and thinking of leaving this as a one-shot. Tell me your opinions.


	2. Hot Rain

A/M: So, looks like I had some free time and some imagination _more_ to spare, after all. Here's the next chapter. The One-shot just became a full-blown story.

Murtagh's eyes surveyed the dark blue skies, his orbs scrutinizing the dark clouds ahead of them.

"It's going to rain," he growled to his dragon, Thorn.

"I'll be fine," retorted the dragon lazily.

Murtagh smirked and replied, "I know, it's me I'm worried about."

With a grunt of assent, the red dragon swooped in a spiral towards the earth, with some tree cover up ahead. The dragon then flew in a straight line towards his only shelter, wondering if Paolini had ever mentioned rain in his book. _What happens when a dragon is flying in the rain? He would have to find out for himself, for here it came. _

Luckily, they had reached the trees only slightly wet. Shaking himself like a dog, Thorn got rid of the foul wet stuff, only to be greeted by his drenched and sour-faced Rider. The dragon's lips parted in what could only be described as a sheepish grin. Murtagh thwarted Thorn's nose and took off his tunic, clownishly draping it across his snout. Thorn shook his head making the article of clothing fall to the ground. Murtagh made no move to pick it up, but instead, shed off all his sodden clothes and placed them on the ground.

Aapologetically, Thorn laid down, exposing his warm belly. Murtagh smirked, lifted and dusted off his clothes and placed them on the dragon's stomach, so that the heat from it would dry his clothes out.

'_Much easier than hanging them on a tree._'

'_HMMM…' _said Thorn.

Murtagh lay next to Thorn, spread-eagled on the sand as he looked up at the dark skies. A few drops of rain splattered on his face, and he wiped them away. He was shocked to find they were hot.

'_Well, they aren't all raindrops,' _said Thorn, his wing moving protectively over his soul-mate, as if sheltering him from the harsh reality.

Murtagh pushed his wing away and turned his back to Thorn. _Leaving was the best plan… leaving was the wisest plan… leaving was the ONLY plan…_

_Did he really believe that, though? Was there a better way, a way which would make them both happy?_

_Assuming that she wanted him, in the first place. _He had done all that he could to show her that he was interested in her. She was a smart girl, she'd have figured out his concern for her the second their minds had touched that very day, if not sooner. He had promised to refrain from seeking out her memories, but it had been tempting. _So very tempting…_

_And of course, that kiss… _ She had been as much a part of it, as had he. But maybe, maybe, she had been so glad to get out of there that she had chosen to show him her gratitude in a way… that he would appreciate. He certainly had appreciated every minute of it, save for the part where he had jumped on his dragon and leapt into the sky. _He was even sure she had been screaming his name…_

'_She was…'_ Thorn broke into his thoughts.

"She was?" said Murtagh aloud.

'_When we were flying away, I heard her screaming your name, she sounded confused… and hurt.'_

Murtagh groaned and tried to break Thorn away from his thoughts.

'_Well, what's the use now? Paolini wants me to be some goddamn vagabond or something, and if he's planning to write anymore at all, he'll stretch the stupid story and I'll probably end up with her dead this time,' _He laughed bitterly at the possibility of such an occurrence.

Thorn was silent, and then willfully disconnected himself from his friend's memories, as 'the kiss' was playing out again, and there was the exchange of saliva moment that always made him feel queasy.

Soon, snorts and snores, as well as vibrations emulated from the red animal, indicating that he was asleep. Removing his garments from Thorn, Murtagh donned them. Awarm feeling enveloped him, and he felt comforted. His dragon had consoled him and showed solidarity with him in his own special way, and Murtagh felt glad that, unlike those many years before, he had someone._ Even if that someone wasn't Nasuada_

_There. He had done it. Said her name. Nasuada. _Nasuada. Nasuada.

'_Is she married now?, _He wondered, with despair. '_I wonder what the Varden are doing with the kingdom?_

It had been a whole month since he had left her standing there. _I hope she doesn't think I've abandoned her. _He wondered, with dread.

Further thoughts began to collide with his conscience. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of them before—heck, there wasn't much one could do on a dragon's back _but _think, but saying her name had brought all those pressing thoughts to the foreground.

He wondered about his brother, whom he had managed to make peace with, even if only for a short time. and he worried whether anything had happened to him…or her, after the fall of Gallbatorix.

'I'll have to get into town and find out, ' he decided. _Hell! I don't even know who the king is!_

A/N: Readers of this book, are any of you listeners? Because I suspect that I've been one of the few to listen to the audiobook of the last series )thus, some spelling errors, sorry), and let me tell you—Murtagh's (or whomever plays him) voice is (what I think is) spoken in a Scottish accent, and is very very sexy. *Remembers and swoons*


	3. Fly Away, Thorn

Yes, thought Murtagh, as he arose that morning to see his dragon still snoring,. The ground protested with a soft rumble as Thorn snored. I think it's about time i saw what was going on in the world.

He had always been a loner, but a month later, he was a bit restless. He wanted to know how the people were getting on, how Eragon and ... Nasuada were doing.

He shared the thoughtt with his friend as he awoke, but Thorn was less optimistic.

'No,' he growled, 'that will just make trouble for us.'

A long argument, one of the first difference of opinions the two had faced came about.

'"your judgement is clouded by her!,' bellowed Thorn. 'I know you want to find out how she is, but will you die to satisfy that curiosity?'

"You are impossible!" Murtagh retorted, "i'll swoop down, ask someone, and we'll be off, i promise. Besides, what could go wrong? It's better than worrying all the time.' The note of pleading was clear in his voice.

'You worry?' Thorn seemed surprised. Clearly, there were parts of Murtagh he still didn't know, then.

"All the time," Murtagh admitted, embarrassed.

'People cant miss me.'

Murtaghthought for a moment, "i shall go alone, then."

A red tail swept from behind him, knocking him to the ground. Red in the face, Murtagh pulled himself up, and glared at Thorn.

"i shallgo," he said, with determination.

With a sigh of defeat, Thorn lowered his head, permitting Murtagh to climb on. He did so, grudgingly. They flew towards the direction of the capital, as Murtagh described his plan to thorn.

"You shall fly very high, so that if people happen to look upwards, they'll be able to explain away your appearance as a large bird. We shall pick an open space, and mark it. We shall then return at night, to the same spot. It will be deserted, or else contain perhaps only a pauper or lone guard. I will jump off your back, and with magic, slow my fall. I will have already disguised myself then, by cutting off my hair. He pointed towards his bushy moustache. "This will make me virtually unrecognizable. I shall then find out what i know in the morning, and leave through the gates—no one really checks when people leave, its only when they are entering."

Thorn growled with displeasure. There are too many risks.

Murtagh nodded, but Thorn could tell he was determined.

The plan was carried out according to Murtagh's instructions. Using magic, he sheered Off his long, untidy hair. After picking the perfect spot and marking it with magic, they flew back. That night, they visited the spot again, which was now illuminated with a glowing orb that could be spotted quite easily, and Murtagh rationalized that it would look like a star to the people below, if they happened to look up.

After asking him whether 'he was sure he wanted to do this', and then telling him to be careful, Thorn dropped Murtagh gently into a cartload of hay, although he had insisted on 'his magic being foolproof'. The dragon's wisdom did not go unexploited —as Murtagh ran out of energy after a quarter of his fall down, and just closed his eyes and prayed that he would fall into something soft. As he fell into the cart of hay, it sounded like a collision, which caused the people around him to come running out of their houses.

Thorn winced as he heard, what to him at the distance sounded like a dull thud. He tried to establish contact with Murtagh, but his friend was so dazed, he couldn't help him into his thoughts. The distance only made it harder.

He continued to look at the scene below, ready to swoop in any second he thought his Rider was in danger. A crowd had gathered around Murtagh, and were staring. A family, consisting of a stout man, and a dark-haired girl were lifting him off the cart. The wheels of the cart had been crushed from the impact, and the hay lay scattered around Murtagh's limp form. Thorn surveyed the two as they held the boy between them, and moved towards a nearby house, predictably their own.

Thorn had already gotten dangerously close/ an onlooker might look up and even be able to identify him as a dragon. He knew this, but he was afraid for Murtagh. He was about to fly still closer, when Murtagh contacted him.

'I'm okay.'

Thorn felt a surge of relief, and retreated towards the skies.

'I'll hide behind these clouds, and keep an eye out for you,' replied Thorn.

'this girl's really pretty,' mused Murtagh. He allowed Thoarn to look at the dark-haired girl he had seen at a distance.

'She's okay, but Nasuada is prettier,'said Thorn, reproachfully.

The dragon hovered over the house continuously connecting with Murtagh. There was nothing going on, really. They had allowed Murtagh to bathe and now, they were sitting around, eating supper. A few people from the crowd were also there, staring at him and asking him questions.

The thought of supper made him hungry, so when Murtagh said to him, for the hundredth time, it seemed,, 'For Heaven's sake, go eat something, you are making me hungrier than I actually am,' Thorn grudgingly soared away. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A/N: If you think you can contribute to this chapter, please do. Or else, let me know if you didn't like anything. I love reviews


	4. Meetg the Maker

A/N: Okay, okay, I have been especially irresponsible lately, I know. Will try to update the next one asap. This chapter may make your head spin and wonder about the concept of reality. That is what I hope to do, as well as get on with this story, already. Will appreciate it if you don't swear in your reviews, but if you cannot help it, go ahead.

Also thanks a ton to u/2332667/BrightWatcher for helping me with this fic. Couldn't have done it without you.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritence Cycle or any of the characters.

As the three people sat about the fire, murtagh cleared his throat, intending to ask the question. He had to be clever about it, he knew, as he didn't want to arouse their suspicion in any way.

He was just about to speak, when the door slowly squeaked open, and a man sauntered in with an air of casualty about him. Murtagh recognized the man, and couldn't help glare.

"Another attack on Queen Nasuada," he announced, as he settled down on a wooden chair across the fire. He suddenly noticed murtagh, leaning across from him, the look of hatred clearly showing on his face.

"Christopher Paolini," Murtagh said, smouldering with every syllable.

Christopher's light brown eyes widened, as he caught sight of someone he didn't know, sitting along with his family in his favourite armchair.

He nervously ruffled his wavy brown hair, and stole a glance towards Angela. The curly brunette's identical eyes met her siblings, and she grinned, not noticing the concern behind them.

"This one fell right out of the sky," she offered as an explanation, "Dad and I helped him off our straw cart". "What a landing that would have made," she added dreamily.

"He's been very mysterious about it all," added his father, happily, "Almost like a god falling from the sky."

"What did you say happened to Nas?" barked Murtagh.

Christopher winced. He had always tried to go the old-world, fantasy way; making his characters play their part perfectly. He was pretty sure that didn't involve nicknames. But how could he control his readers from referring to them that way?

Christopher gave Murtagh what he considered was his most severe look and said,"Listen dude, this, here, is the real world. I am the author of The Inheritence Cycle and all, but that's all over now. I don't want to give you anymore interviews for your paper. I am currently thinking of writing more, but…"

Murtagh had crossed the room in a matter of seconds, and his nose was inches before Christopher's, eyes meeting his menacingly.

"What did you mean…," Murtagh lowered his voice threateningly, "about an attack on Nasuada?"

A feeling of dread coursed through the twenty-eight year old's face as he realized who this was, despite the moustache and short, red hair. Murtagh. And it was not a Murtagh from one of his dreams, or nightmares, but a real, living creature who had apparently found agency and wasn't controlled by his trusty keyboard anymore. After writing and completing the series that had earned him so much fame and taken away a decade of his life, he thought he had finally done away with all of it. It had taken him four extremely thick books, but he had done it. Written away his characters—Eragon, Arya, Nasuada, Murtagh…all of them. Forever. But now, Murrtagh stood before him, in his own house, and he looked angry.

Christopher pinched himself. Sure, he had come home announcing an attack on Nasuada, but that had been more of a thing he had read from one of those authors on fanfiction. He had been half-amused, half-horrified at the kind of stories that readers )_M'ore like crazy fans with too much time on their hands,'_ he quipped to himself) wrote about his characters. Despite himself, he was impressed by some, and what had started as a hobby had become an obsession. He now followed several stories and was continuously online, checking out what the next updates read.

"she just escaped another attempt at her life", he repeated, testing the waters with the figment of his imagination.

"You mean there have been others?" shot back Murtagh.

Christopher groaned, and conceded, ,"Well, she is the High _Queen_ of Algaesia and ruler of the Empire, after all. It's pretty obvious some people want her out of the way."

"What?"his voice was full of disbelief. "How did that happen?"

Christopher couldn't help a slow smile from creeping up his mouth. "that was me, before I ended the four part series. I made her queen. "

Murtagh scowled. "did you give her a king, as well?" or are you planning to take that up in your fifth book?"

"there is no fifth book," the brown-haired man replied. "I'm done."

"That's a relief," answered Murtagh,"I have had enough of your angsty endings.

"Whose this, Chris?" Angela cut in, her patience finally giving in. _if this was some stupid practical joke, she was having none of it_.

Chris turned abruptly. He had forgotten his dad and sister were even there, and noticed both were regarding him with strange looks. His father, an older version of himself, was peering at Murtagh with interest. He had discussed all his characters with his dad, and all his work had gotten a thorough proofreading from the older man. Angela, on the other hand, had point-blank refused to read or discuss Christopher's characters with him, and therefore, had no idea that the man she was secretly admiring from the corner of her eye was just someone her brother's mind had given birth to.

"It's complicated, Ange," he said. "But I'd like it if you and dad give us some space."

Angela was ready to retort along the lines of Christopher's gender preference, when her dad, with surprising swiftness despite his stocky frame, was across the room, clamping his hand over her mouth, and dragging her away.

Murtagh and Christopher were then alone, and Christopher began to tell him all that he had had Murtagh miss after he had been forced to run off with out a plan. He told him about Eragon and Arya, how they had been separated by their responsibilities, and explained Nasuada's reign.

"and the attacks?" asked Murtagh, anciously.

"well," Christopher admitted,"that is outside my control. I just read this fic…"

Murtagh shook him angrily by the shoulders. The physical touch of what he deemed imaginary shocked him. He gasped.

"You cant do that, you—you aren't real," he choked.

"You don't get it, do you?" asked Murtagh. "Given that you have already ended your books, someone else has taken over. You are no longer an author. You are a character. And you have just given me all the information I need."

Christopher took a step back from Murtagh, trying to process this information. _Was he mad?_ He wondered. _Did it really hurt if you pinch yourself in your dream? _He tried again.

"How do you know this?" he challenged the red head.

"Because the author of the fanfic, the very one you are reading, told me. She told me who you were and made me fall into the cart outside your imaginary house."

"My sister…and dad…"

"Characters."

Murtagh then gave him a mock bow. "I hope this author's ending is better than yours," were his parting words, before he headed for the door.

The guard looked at him closely as murtagh asked to be let out.

"Where would yourself be going at this time of night?" he asked him.

Leering slightly, he pointed up at the full moon,"Romantic getaway with a dark naiden," was all Murtagh had to say, before, the guard, slapping him on the back grinned and signalled for the gates to be opened. "Hope you've got your papers on you, sir," he called. "Wont be as nice while letting yourself in."

Murtagh waved in a friendly manner at him and casually made his way outside. He walked all the way in the same pace, and finally, when he was sure no one could see him, broke into a run.

_Thorn, _he bellowed.

Thorn heard him, and sent him a image of his whereabouts. A dead deer lay before him, and he was considering whether he should save it for Murtagh or not.

_Its mine, _insisted the Rider. 

Thorn moved away and settled down, waiting for his friend to appear. He kept up the mental link, giving him directions. Finally, Nurtagh was exploding through the row of trees and landed on Thorn, gasping.

_I have a lot to tell you,_ he said.

_Already read your mind_, _he replied. _What did you mean by scaring Paolini off like that? He did create all of us, you know.

_Haven't said anything that's not true, _retorted Murtagh, pointedly looking at the deer. _Can you heat this up, please? _

Thorn obliged, selecting the right temperature from his nose before the short burst of flame was directed at the deer, who was cooked to perfection in less than a second.

_Ah, always good to have a dragon on your side,_ said his Rider happily, settling down on the ground, waiting for his dinner to cool.

_As I was saying, _Thorn was not done. _You should have shown some more respect. He is a lot more well-known than you are. _

_When the hell did we care about things such as those? _He asked, and then, went on, _And did you hear of Nas…_

_-Being the High Queen of __Algaesia? _Thorn cut in, _it has been on our minds for a long time, _he teased.

Murtagh blushed. He didn't like to be caught out appearing overduely excited, which what Thorn had seen him be just now.

_So, our destination is Algaesia, _Murtagh said. _How far is that from here?_


End file.
